


Won't You Let Me Go Down in My Dreams

by CitrusVanille



Series: Nightmares [3]
Category: McFly
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: Dougie tries to jerk away, tries to tell his father to get off of him, to let him go, but his father keeps shaking him, right up in his face, and suddenly it’s not his father, it’s blond hair and worried brown eyes, and “Dougie, Dougie, wake up, please, come on, wake up, Doug.”





	Won't You Let Me Go Down in My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Specific notes on the child abuse warning at the end.

“No, don’t. Please don’t,” Dougie’s begging, knows he is, knows it won’t help, but can’t not, any more than he can help the tears streaming down his face. “Please, I didn’t mean it – I didn’t, I swear I didn’t – please –”

“Doug,” his father says, voice sharp, and Dougie knows how this is going to go, knows how it always goes, and there’s nothing he can do to change it, but.

“Doug,” his father says again, and it’s still sharp, but oddly desperate. “Dougie.” He reaches out and grabs Dougie’s shoulders, shaking him.

Dougie tries to jerk away, tries to tell his father to get off of him, to let him go, but his father keeps shaking him, right up in his face, and suddenly it’s not his father, it’s blond hair and worried brown eyes, and “Dougie, Dougie, wake up, please, come on, wake up, Doug.”

“Tom?” Dougie’s voice comes out a croak.

“Hey,” Tom’s voice drops down to something closer to a whisper. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Are you.” He stops, doesn’t ask if Dougie’s all right, and Dougie’s irrationally grateful for that.

“Was I –?” Dougie’s not really sure he wants to know, never is, even though the answer is almost always the same.

“I heard you scream, yeah,” Tom tells him, and finally sits back, moving so he’s next to Dougie instead of almost on top of him.

Dougie can feel his face and neck get hot, is glad Tom never bothers to turn on the lights, because this has been happening every few nights for almost a month now, but it never gets easier. “Thanks,” he says, barely audible even to his own ears, and stares at the ceiling.

“Don’t,” Tom’s voice is low, but clear. He makes an abortive move with one hand, like he’s going to reach out to touch and thinks better of it halfway there. Dougie’s grateful for that, too, for Tom to understand enough not to push. He sort of wants the contact though, even if he doesn’t know why, so he scoots a little closer on the bed until he can lean against Tom’s side, nudges a little with his shoulder until Tom’s arm comes up and drapes loosely around Dougie’s shoulders.

They’re both silent for a while, though Tom gradually starts sifting his fingers through the ends of Dougie’s hair. Dougie’s pretty sure it’s not a conscious gesture, but he leans into it anyway, and Tom doesn’t stop.

“It’s my dad,” Dougie says, doesn’t really mean to say anything, but he’s starting to drift again, and it’s easier, like this, in the dark, Tom warm and solid and _real_ next to him, keeping him grounded and safe. “Every time. It’s always the same.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make any kind of noise to try to prompt Dougie into continuing, just keeps running his fingers through the hair at the base of Dougie’s neck, callused fingertips brushing light and soft across Dougie’s skin.

“He’s there,” Dougie’s whispering now, can feel himself stumbling a little over each word, but it’s not hard to let them come. “I know he’s been gone. I don’t know how long, maybe a long time, maybe only a couple days. But I know he’s been gone – _gone_ gone, not just out like he said – and that he’s not back. He’s just. There. And I’m happy to see him. So happy. I’m not angry. I’m not confused. I’m just. So glad. Relieved. I never think about how bad it could be, or why things can’t be right again. Just that he’s there, and that it’ll be better, and Jazzie won’t cry, and mum won’t cry when she thinks we don’t know. And I go to tell him. Say to him that he should stay. It’ll be better, we’ll be better. But he won’t come near me. And then. Then he says. He says he’s not back. He’s not coming back. He’s not going to stay. Because I. Because of me. Because I wasn’t what he wanted from a son. He says he misses my mum and Jazz, and he wishes he could see them, and be with them, but he won’t, because he doesn’t want me.”

There’s something on Dougie’s face, tickling his cheeks, the corners of his nose. He realizes it’s tears. Tom still hasn’t said anything. Dougie wonders if he’s noticed. He’s not sure he minds if he has, but he’s glad he hasn’t said anything.

“He tells me he’s leaving again,” Dougie continues, and he can feel the catch in his throat now, but he feels like he needs to say this, needs to finish what he started, knows, somehow, that it won’t stop the nightmares, but will help anyway, to know that he’s not alone, that Tom knows, too. “He says this time it’s for good, he won’t be back. He doesn’t ever want to see me again. He wishes he could tell his girls goodbye, but he can’t, and that’s my fault, too, because I wasn’t better, I wasn’t stronger, I wasn’t like him. I try to stop him, and he pushes me away, doesn’t want me to touch him. I try again, and he hits me,” Dougie touches one hand to his face, feels the phantom sting of the blow and the wet tracks of the real tears on his cheeks. “I fall, but I try to stop him again, I have to stop him. I tell him. Tell him.” Dougie stops, voice breaking, and this isn’t. He needs to say this, needs Tom to understand how hard he tries, that he doesn’t care what happens to him, but he doesn’t want his sister or his mother to suffer for his mistakes. But he can’t seem to form words anymore.

Tom’s fingers curl around the nape of Dougie’s neck, not hard, but firm, and hold on. “I know,” he says, and his voice is a little rough, too, like maybe his throat is trying to close off like Dougie’s has. “I know you tried, Doug. But it’s not your fault.”

Dougie knows that, he does. He knows that there was nothing he could have done, in the reality of the situation, but. “It seems so real.” The words are choked, and he kind of hates that, but it’s Tom, and somehow that makes it. Not okay, but not. Not bad, either.

“I know,” Tom says again. He doesn’t say he’s sorry, he doesn’t say they can fix it. Dougie’s glad. He’s not sure he could handle it if Tom lied to him, or if he thought Tom was pitying him. He just needs Tom to be there, and he is.

Neither of them says anything else for a while, though Tom returns to combing through Dougie’s hair, movements slow and relaxed, and Dougie can feel himself drifting again.

“Thanks,” Dougie murmurs, right on the edge of falling asleep again. And he means for listening, and for staying, and for just being Tom.

Tom brushes Dougie’s bangs out of his eyes with his free hand, runs his fingers across Dougie’s cheeks, over the damp trails that run down past Dougie’s mouth. “Always,” he says.

Dougie hums softly, eyes closed now, and lets himself settle more comfortably in against Tom’s side, in the crook of his arm. He can sleep again, he thinks. He knows he won’t dream anymore tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Child abuse (primarily emotional, but briefly physical, as well) in a dream setting only, none of it happens in the real world, though Dougie's father did leave (I have no idea of the circumstances).


End file.
